Psychoanalysis
by Jay2645
Summary: Every three months, Miss Pauling must make a routine psychoanalysis of the team members under the Administrator's employ. This is one of those routine inspections.


Scout ran his fingers impatiently along the knee of his pants. "I can't believe I'm here. Stuck in this f$#ing administrative... 'facility'."

He stood up and looked around for someone to talk to, but no one revealed themselves to him. He glared at nothing in particular and sat back down. "What the hell is this place, anyway? Why is everything in here purple? Purple's a stupid color."

Scout's monologue was interrupted by the sudden opening of a door. Out stepped Miss Pauling, the right hand of the Administrator. "Mr. Randall?"

"Why the hell do you always call me that?" Scout snapped.

"It's your name, isn't it?"

"Yes, but every damn time I come in here you call me that, and every damn time you do, I tell you to stop."

"I'm sorry, what would you like me to call you?"

"I don't know, something NORMAL, maybe? I just figured after all the times I tell you not to, it would penetrate your thick skull."

Miss Pauling sighed. "Just follow me, Mr. Randall."

Grumbling to himself, Scout stood back up and followed Miss Pauling down a seemingly never-ending complex of halls. Miss Pauling sniffed the air and frowned.

"Mr. Randall, why do you smell like fish?"

"What do ya mean?"

"Sexual liaisons are not permitted as long as you're under the employ of the Administrator, you know."

Scout's eyes widened. "Oh, no, no, no! It's not like that! Really! I carry a fish wrapped in a newspaper. You know, for hitting things. Men. Hitting men. With a fish."

Miss Pauling stopped for a moment. "Mmhmm," she said, making a mark on her clipboard.

"What did you just mark down? Erase it! I haven't been seeing any women, I swear! And even if I have, don't ya think I would have the decency and common sense to wash my hands first?"

"Knowing you, Mr. Randall, perhaps not." She looked around for a moment and began walking down another corridor. "Follow me."

Scout grudgingly followed Miss Pauling down a few more hallways until they finally stopped at a door. Miss Pauling unlocked it and held it open. "In here, Mr. Randall."

The room seemed much cozier than the rest of the facility. Whereas the complex surrounding it was nothing but stark concrete walls and a cold tile floor, this room had a fuzzy carpet and walls tinted a warm purple. A couch lined one side of the room, a desk lined the opposite. A couple potted plants were in the corner.

"Take a seat, Mr. Randall," Miss Pauling said. She sat behind her desk as Scout took a seat on the couch.

"Is this another one of my psychoanalyzing test things? Because I keep passing those things with flying colors and you keep giving them to me. I'm not like the rest of the team, Miss Pauling. I'm not crazy; you can stop giving me these tests. Now, we're launching a 2fort offensive in an hour, I've got to be there. The team won't make it without me."

Miss Pauling nodded and jotted down a couple more notes on her clipboard.

"What the hell do you keep writing on there, anyway? Stop doing that; I'm not crazy. I just like hitting people with a newspaper-wrapped fish. But it's not like I laugh like a moron, carry a purse with me, and attempt to set my teammates on fire as a paranoid attempt at 'spy-checking'."

"Tell me about your father, Mr. Randall."

Scout sighed. "Goddamnit, I can't win with you, can I? Haven't I told you enough about that damn man? He ran out on me when I was six. Ran out on me and all my brothers. Left Joey in charge of the family. Mom was at the bars all the time like the damn whore she is, taking home man after man. My brothers and I couldn't stand it, and it was one of the reasons why I ran off to join this place in the first place. Now haven't you heard enough?"

Miss Pauling nodded. "Mr. Randall, have you smoked, drank, or taken any drugs recently?"

"You mean besides the time Demoman spiked the entire team's water supply with moonshine?"

"Besides that."

"And besides my 24-pack of Bonk?"

"That is frowned upon, but technically legal and thus excusable."

Scout hesitated for a moment. "No, nothing."

Miss Pauling dug through her desk for a moment and took out a baggie containing a white powder. "Then why did we find a gram of cocaine in your locker?"

"Where the hell did you- Why were you digging through my locker?"

"All goods left in our care are subject to search, Mr. Randall. The contract you signed specified that."

"It's not mine! It's Soldier's!"

Miss Pauling nodded. "Right. I'll be sure to let the Administrator know."

"I swear, Miss Pauling, I don't do that stuff! I'm clean! Really!"

"Good-bye, Mr. Randall. You may leave."

"Really!"

"You may leave, Mr. Randall."

"Yeah, whatever," Scout said. "I need to get to 2fort anyway."

**PSYCHOANALYSIS: SCOUT**

Mr. Randall has an Oedipal Complex. This would account for his hatred of others he deems as his superiors or "bigger" than he is, as well as his brash attitude at times. This was possibly brought on by his lack of father figure. Furthermore, Attention Deficit Disorder or Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder is likely to explain jitteriness and short attention span. Further investigation is needed. Depression and substance abuse are very likely as well. May be repressing homosexual tendencies.


End file.
